


Putty In My Hands

by Historical_Muse



Series: Robin Hood (BBC 2006) [3]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: M/M, who's really in control?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Historical_Muse/pseuds/Historical_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian:  Are you aware of the risk?  If Guy catches you...<br/>Allan:     Don’t worry, he’ll be putty in my hands!  ~ S2, Ep3:  “Childhood”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putty In My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the scene in which Allan ostensibly goes to parley with Guy for Daniel’s release; some dialogue is taken verbatim from the ep and I’m not claiming this as my own work.

The dish-shaped helmet set on his head at a jaunty angle, Allan saunters into Locksley Manor.  As he is announced, Gisborne looks up at him – and a faintly scornful smile touches his lips as he eyes Allan from head to toe and laughs quietly.

Allan looks hurt.  “’Ere!  What’s so funny?”

Snorting, Gisborne folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head.  “Nothing, I assure you...”

“Yeah, well...” Allan takes off the helmet and tosses it onto the table, before raising his eyebrows questioningly at Gisborne, irritated by the fact that the older man still appears to be trying not to snigger.  Well, he’ll soon wipe that smirk off his face.  “May I sit down?”

Gisborne gestures elegantly towards the bench beside the table.  “Please, be my guest.”

Allan sits, sweeping his cloak out behind him dramatically like brave St George in a mummer’s play on Midsummer’s Eve.  Gisborne smirks again, and Allan sucks in his lips and smacks them noisily.  He jerks his head at Gisborne’s supper.  “That looks nice.  _I’m_ a bit hungry, like.  Come a long way, I have.  Man on a mission.  Very _dangerous_ mission.  Gives a man an appetite...”

Gisborne raises his arm and clicks his fingers at one of the servants waiting patiently for orders.  “Some food and wine for my – _guest_...”

The servant nods and obeys, returning with more chicken, bread, and a new pitcher of wine; all of which he places on the table beside the loaf and bowl of butter already there before being ordered out of the room with the other house-slaves.  Closing and locking the door after the last man, Guy turns back to Allan, who is licking his lips and eyeing the food eagerly.  “So, what have you got for me?”

“Give us a chance, Giz,” Allan exclaims.  “Nice spread you’ve laid on for me, this.  Man’s got to eat.”

“Doesn’t _Hood_ feed you?”

Allan shrugs.  “A man can get very tired of squirrel.”

“Squirrel!” Gisborne laughs quietly, the sound mocking.  “Christ, Allan – you outlaws live well in Sherwood.  Like kings!”

Allan swallows a mouthful of thickly-buttered bread.  “Much does what ‘e can wiv meagre resources.  Good man, is Much.  Ah, cheers!”

Gisborne places the wine pitcher back on the table, then leans on the planks, watching Allan’s throat as he gulps down wine to follow the bread.  “So.  What brings you to Locksley Manor?”

Allan sucks his fingers and attacks the chicken.  “Got summat for you, ain’t I...”

Raising a mocking eyebrow at Allan’s _exquisite_ table manners, Gisborne shakes his head slowly.  _Christ_ but the boy has a voracious appetite.  “Well, where _is_ it, then?” he asks patiently.

Sighing, Allan puts down the leg he’s torn from the roast chicken, reaches into his belt, and then throws a roll of parchment across the table to the older man.

Guy picks up the parchment, scans it, and then stares, eyes narrowing in surprised disbelief.  “This is the Sheriff’s official seal.  Who gave you this?”  There’s a pause – and Guy could swear that Allan almost looks _smug_ when he replies, mouth smacking greedily on the food he’s chewing.

“Listen, mate – the fact you’re standin’ there ‘oldin’ that means I’ve stopped Robin, right?  I don’t know where it’s from.  You know, I start askin’ too many questions, they’re gonna blow my cover.”

As Allan tears more lumps off the loaf and the chicken and stuffs them into his mouth, Gisborne half-smiles, almost admiring him for his impudence.  “You did well to bring this to me.”

Allan positively twinkles with self-importance.  “Yeah, I know!”  He reaches for his beaker.  “I think I’ll have a bit more wine...”

Guy eyes him sardonically and pours wine, as Allan continues to eat heartily and grunts with satisfaction.  _< Christ, I made the right choice with this one!>_ he muses with a faint, wry smile, feeling himself stirred to arousal by the boy’s sauciness.  “So, your plan’s failed.  What will Robin do?”

Allan shrugs, making nonchalant gestures with his long, delicate hands.  _< He has such beautiful hands,>_ Guy muses, _apropos_ of nothing in particular and surprising himself with the thought.  “Well, if this doesn’t work, it’s a straightforward swap – diamonds for boy.  Well, Robin wouldn’t risk that boy’s life – not for anything.”

“How very noble of him.”  Guy’s voice is thick with sarcasm.  He is not, however, buying the simplicity of this plan:  it’s not devious enough for Hood.  “Well, there must be some trick.”

“What’s it worth?” Allan sighs, daring him to make an offer.

This time allowing himself a smirk, Guy jingles coins in a red velvet money-bag and sees Allan thinking hard, his moist pink tongue running over his lips a little too seductively while he considers what he’s being offered.

“Pitch,” he says at last.  “In a box containing the diamonds.  Boy runs free, Robin fires a flamin’ arrow and – _psssh_ –” Allan spreads his arms, hands flailing with a brief elegance to denote the anticipated explosion.  “Bye-bye diamonds.”

Again, Guy raises his eyebrows as Allan tears off another chunk of bread.  God, he was no better than some bumptious, cheeky street urchin from the gutter – and yet, with _those_ hands...  And such a way with those sly, coy looks!  _< He knows how to use those eyes,>_ Guy notes with some amusement.  _< I may be a fool to some – but I’m not so much of a fool as to not notice!>_

Maybe it’s unconscious on Allan’s part – maybe it’s a trick he learned long ago in order to survive.  But those long, sweeping eyelashes flutter so becomingly – and incongruously – on the face of a downy-bearded boy.

Guy sits on the table, still smiling at the way Allan shovels bread and butter and chicken into his mouth.  Perhaps they really _did_ subsist only on squirrel and whatever else they could trap in the forest.  “What will you tell Hood?”

“Aw, that’s easy!” Allan exclaims, his mouth full of food and with another shrug.  “Just say I was tumbled.  You recognised me, we ‘ad a fight – which, obviously, I nearly won – I left you for near dead, fleeing the manor, dispatching guards as I go.”

Guy is hugely entertained by Allan’s cocky take on how things might pan out – especially at the notion that Hood will actually _swallow_ such nonsense.  But he smiles, all the same.  “Good idea,” he purrs, almost seductively.

“Mmmmm,” Allan agrees blithely, still eating.  When Guy then hits him across the face with the back of his hand, Allan is caught off-guard and highly indignant.  “What was _that_ for?”

Now Guy _is_ amused.  “Believability,” he replies, before taking great pleasure in clouting him again.

Allan has had enough.  “Oh well, that’s _very_ nice, that is.  Here I was, thinkin’ I’d done you a favour – an’ all you’ve done is smack me round the ‘ead for nothing!  I fort we ‘ad an _arrangement_!”

Guy, meanwhile, has other things on his mind.  _Just say I was tumbled..._   A slip of the tongue, surely?  Gisborne knows perfectly well what the word means – and he’s quite sure Allan wouldn’t use it deliberately.  All the same...oh, he’s so aware of how aroused he is by the cocksure brat – maybe it's time to remind Allan a Dale that there’s no equality in _this_ partnership.  “On your feet,” he snarls, cuffing Allan again for good measure.

Allan raises his hands and obeys.  “All right, all right...blimey, what’s got into _you_?”  Guy grabs him by the scruff of the neck and drags him around to the front of the table.  “Oi, watch it!” Allan protests.  “Don’t want to be stitchin’ that up again, you know!”

“Drop your breeches,” Guy instructs him, ignoring Allan’s grumbles.  “ _Now_!”  For a moment, he thinks Allan’s not heard him, and is about to make the request more forcefully when he sees by Allan’s face that the penny – unlike his breeches – has dropped.

“Aw, come on now!” Allan laughs, trying to disarm Gisborne with smiles and charm.  “That’s not part of the deal.”

Gisborne rubs at his cock as it strains against his leathers, trying to make himself more comfortable.  “I don’t think _you’re_ in _any_ position to say what is or isn’t part of any deal we have between us,” he informs Allan curtly as he tugs at his own fastenings.  “Now do as I say and drop your breeches.”

The look Allan gives him is a curious one, as though this turn of events was not wholly unexpected.  As he unties his laces, lets his breeches drop to the floor and folds his arms nonchalantly across his chest, something tells Gisborne that this is not the _first_ time Allan a Dale has been in this situation.  Nor, he reflects, seeing that the boy’s cock isn’t exactly flaccid – and quite sizable, into the bargain – is he likely to play his face with regard to what’s about to happen.  After all, he’s going to be paid for it, isn’t he?

Breathing hard now, Gisborne strokes his erection.  “Unfold your arms, boy,” he orders.  “You’re not here for the good of your health, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Allan sighs impatiently and wearily turns to face the board.  He leans on it with his hands flat, presenting his arse to Gisborne.  “Get on with it then,” he sighs again, sounding bored and resigned.

“No,” Gisborne smirks, fingers digging into the bowl of butter and then smearing his cock with the soft, yellow grease as he admires Allan’s deliciously round and inviting arse.  “No, I don’t think so.  Turn around, Allan.  I want to see your face when I fuck you.”

With another irritated grunt, Allan does as he’s told.  “This isn’t very comfortable,” he complains as he leans back on the table.

“Be quiet,” Guy retorts.  “I’m not interested in _your_ pleasure.”

But he _is_ interested in the fact that Allan knew _exactly_ what to do when instructed.  Oh yes, it’s quite clear that Allan a Dale is no stranger to being fucked across a table.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Never get _that_ out,” Allan grumbles as Guy takes his time lubricating Allan’s arsehole, opening him up with unexpectedly soothing fingers and accidentally spreads butter on Allan’s tunic.

“Shut up and keep still.”  Guy spits out the words in a brisk, chilling whisper.  “Now get on your back.”

Allan complains, but obeys, hoisting himself further onto the table.  Guy hefts Allan’s lower body upwards so that he can push himself into Allan’s arse.  He places the head of his thick, swollen cock against the exposed hole, and then pushes in past the sphincter muscle with little ceremony.  That Allan doesn’t protest or express pain at this rough intrusion, nor fight back against such a violation, surprises Gisborne; but he assumes that this is because Allan’s no stranger to being fucked this way.  Oh, he’ll show his dogsbody who’s master here, he thinks, as he lifts Allan’s long legs up over his shoulders and pushes in deeper, slowly sinking home until he’s in up to the hilt.

Hands gripping Allan’s thighs, Gisborne thrusts slowly, enjoying the idea that he’s demonstrating to Allan that he can do with Allan whatever he pleases.  Allan feels good around and beneath him and it’s not long before Guy is pounding into him blindly, grunting and swearing and revelling in the feeling of power this gives him.  He wants to look at Allan now – wants to look into his face and enjoy watching him learn his lesson.

...Except that when Guy forces open his eyes and looks down, he doesn’t see what he expects.  Instead, Allan’s eyes are closed as his head rolls gently from side to side, his front teeth chewing on his bottom lip and his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers grip the edge of the table.  From the look on his face, Allan’s _enjoying_ this – and Guy is startled, wholly unprepared for Allan’s clear abandonment to pleasure when _he’d_ intended to teach the cocky brat a lesson about power and their respective positions as Sheriff’s man and outlaw.

But he has no time to think now and his hips pump furiously as he draws closer to orgasm.  He hears Allan moaning softly beneath him, and he begins to wonder if fucking this pretty, rangy, long-limbed youth wouldn’t be a truly pleasurable thing to repeat.  He opens his eyes and looks down to see that while one of Allan’s hands still grips the edge of the table, the other now lies against his belly, wrapped around his thick cock as he masturbates, his movements quick and smooth.

Guy is fascinated by the moments of Allan’s hand and his quiet, controlled breathing.  Oh yes, he _has_ done this sort of thing before – Guy is _sure_ of it now – and the thought triggers a surge of desire in him that finally sends him over the edge into orgasm, releasing himself inside Allan with a loud cry.  Transfixed by the sight of Allan masturbating and those beautiful hands, Guy leans against Allan’s body, fighting to regain his breath and staring as pre-come starts to ooze over Allan’s fingers.  He is still staring when Allan climaxes, showering spurts of creamy white come over the bottom of his rucked-up tunic, his belly, and his hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Panting, Allan relaxes and lies still against the wooden table-top, heart pounding in his breast.  He can still feel Guy’s cock inside him, and his arse is sticky with butter and come.  He’s actually quite comfortable with his ankles resting on Guy’s shoulders like this, and is content to lie where he is until Guy decides to throw him out.  It strikes him as odd that Gisborne is silent; he’d’ve thought that Gisborne couldn’t _wait_ to crow further about fucking him.  Allan opens his eyes to find Gisborne watching him as he strokes his now-drooping cock lovingly, gathering his come in his palm as he does so.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Guy realises that Allan’s watching him, and he looks directly into Allan’s face.  Their eyes meet and something Allan can’t quite put a name to passes between them.  Gisborne’s eyes fall again on the hand around Allan’s cock, and Allan’s seized by the urge to lift his hand towards Guy’s mouth.  He does so – and Guy leans forward, eyes hooded and lips parted until, in one slow movement, Allan’s palm is pressed to Guy’s lips.  As though in a dream, Guy presses his mouth to Allan’s sticky flesh and his lips and tongue move over Allan’s palm, slowly licking and sucking and mouthing along each finger in turn until his hand is clean.

Not quite able to take in what’s just happened, Allan studies Gisborne’s face – and then he’s smiling inside himself.  Yes, he feels uncomfortable – not to mention cold and faintly ridiculous – sprawled half-naked over this table in Locksley Manor; but what’s important is what he’s just realised about Gisborne – that he has a vulnerability, and that he, Allan a Dale, may well have just discovered exactly what it is.

_< Oh yes...>_ Allan thinks, bemused by this new feeling of power and something else he can’t quite pinpoint, but also feeling pleased with himself.  _< Putty in my hands.  I told them he would be.  Putty in my hands...>_

_And when Guy looks at him, eyes almost pleading, Allan knows that if he returns breathless to Robin and the others waiting back at the camp, he won’t be breathless from running_ _..._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


End file.
